3 August 1989 – 17 July 2015
The Jamaican athlete recalls his friend, the big-hearted, witty Formula One driver who died from injuries sustained in a crash at the 2014 Japanese grand prix
There’s a saying in Jamaica where I’m from – “spirit tek” – that refers to having an instinctive liking for someone you don’t even know. That’s pretty much what happened when I met Jules Bianchi in Japan in September 2013.
Jules had gifted his Formula One racing gear as a contribution to the Richard Mille charity auction. He and I were both ambassadors for the charity and the proceeds from that evening’s event were to benefit needy children at opposite ends of the Earth; the Hitachi Foundation in Japan and my YB Afraid in Jamaica.
I looked up to him with the respect and admiration that you have for a true champion
I watched carefully as Jules cajoled and prodded all of us who sat at the table, as he pulled out all the stops until his gear was sold to the highest bidder. I remember laughing to myself and thinking just how much he reminded me of me.
“I want to come to Jamaica.” I distinctly remember his words the evening we met. His attempt at sounding like a Jamaican did nothing to mask his thick French accent. “The only thing that makes me happier than racing is giving.”
We became fast friends (pun intended) and soon I discovered just why my spirit “took to him” in the first place. The quiet, soft-spoken personality I would see on television and read about in the papers was quickly replaced by a big-hearted and comical character. His jokes weren’t the stiff ones that happen when you’re trying too hard to be funny; they were more real-life “funnies”, like Jules’s Michael Jackson rendition during a karaoke performance in Japan. I’m sure Michael could have learned a step or two from Jules. He was genuinely witty and sharp and his humour came at you almost as fast as he drove.
If you’ve ever been bitten by the speed bug, then you’ll have a clear understanding of the foundation of my friendship with Jules. We shared a passion for life that was surpassed only by his passion for success. That’s what I saw in him and what piqued my curiosity.
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Jules and I were both born in 1989 and, though he was just five months older than me, I looked up to him with the respect and admiration that you have for a true champion. If his record behind the wheel didn’t impress me, then the appetite and determination that got him there in the first place certainly did.
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My last encounter with Jules at the British grand prix saw me joining him on the grid after hearing him shout my name above all the noise at Silverstone. I told him that I had never been on the Formula One grid before, to which he replied: “I will join you in the starting blocks when you run next week!” I won’t forget that laugh. His smile was large and genuine.
There is an unavoidable despair that accompanies the untimely passing of a person so young. The plans and promises of greatness to come are replaced by memories of a life journey that ended much too early. My sadness on hearing the news of Jules’s passing was made up of an equal measure of losing a colleague who was approaching the pinnacle of Formula One racing and also losing a friend whose heart was bigger than life.
Jules’s legacy in racing will be remembered for generations to come and his authenticity and work ethic will serve to inspire competition for ever.
As we say in Jamaica: walk good mi fren’.